The Dharma Cooperative
by estrafalaria103
Summary: Rescue is on its way in the shape of a stolen plane, but it turns out that the survivors may be the ones to do the rescuing
1. Chapter 1

They were in the middle of the jungle when Michael stopped. Jack stared at him intently, wondering why the abrupt change in plans. Kate came up from the back to stand beside him.

"Michael, is this is?" she asked. Michael turned to them, and his eyes weren't focused on retrieving his son. Instead they glistened, with almost realizable tears, as he turned to face them, a gun pointed straight at Jack's heart.

"I'm sorry," he said, trembling a little. "They took my son. I had to do it. . .to get Walt back." He closed his eyes. Kate screamed. And Jack suddenly found himself spitting up dirt, with a heavy body over him.

"Shoot, girl!" Sawyer yelled, still on top of Jack. The doctor could feel fumbling above him, realizing that the conman was probably trying to get his own gun out.

"I can't," Kate said. "It's Mike!"

But there was a gunshot, and a minute later Michael fell to the ground. Behind him stood the bearded man, a sick smile on his face.

"I'm really sorry, Michael," he said. "But you failed. And you know that the boss doesn't like failures."

By now, Sawyer had gotten his gun out, and without a word for once, he slid off Jack's body, aimed, and fired. When the man fell to the ground, he finally allowed himself a quick one-liner.

"Sorry Zeke," he said, standing and walking over to the man, who he kicked viciously in the side. "But you failed."

"Sawyer, get back here," Jack ordered, coming to his knees and reaching for his own gun. Kate's gaze was torn between the two men, checking to make sure they were both okay. "There could be more of them."

"Shh," Sawyer held his free hand back to them, gesturing for them to stop talking and moving. His other hand held the gun up to chest level. "Someone's coming."

A minute later, a young black man stepped into view. He looked at all of them for a moment. Jack peered back at him, confused. There was something very familiar about the young man. Then, his gaze fell on Michael, either unconscious or dead. Jack kicked himself for not giving in to medical instincts, and hurried over to the man.

"Is he dead?" the stranger asked. Jack felt for a pulse, and breath. He sighed.

"No," he said, and then ripped open the man's shirt to check for injuries. The bullet had gone straight through his left shoulder, apparently missing lungs and heart. Lucky.

Sawyer sauntered over, and hunkered down beside them. He laughed, and pointed at the shoulder. "Looks familiar, don't it?"

Mike pried his eyes open. Jack let out another sigh of relief. Pulse, breathing, and conscious. Michael should be able to pull through it. The injured man coughed.

"Well, Sawyer," he said. "Looks like now we both took one for the team."

The stranger, forgotten in the worry about Mike, took the other man's hand in his own.

"Dad?" he said gently. Jack's head ripped around. Those eyes, those features. . .it was Walt. He didn't seem to have been hurt in any way, he realized. Except that he looked about five years old. But how was that possible?

"Hey, boy," Michael said weakly, squeezing the boy's hands. "I told you I'd come get you."

Walt nodded as his father slowly closed his eyes and lapsed into unconsciousness. He finally looked up at the others.

"Hey," he said. John Locke stepped forward, and smiled down at the boy.

"Hello, Walt," he said gently. "Welcome back.

* * *

"Hey, Ted, come take a look at this."

Theodore Constanpolis sighed as he wandered over to his friend. He hated the name Ted. He hated the name Teddy. He also hated T-Dawg, Theo, and Consty. In fact, he hated any nickname given to him, ever. That, of course, didn't prevent his friends from using such nicknames whenever they desired.

"My name isn't Ted," he said, before leaning over the computer. His glasses slid slowly down his nose, as they had an irritating habit of doing whenever he glanced down. For once, he didn't instantly push them back up. He just stared at the screen in front of him.

"What the hell is that?" he asked.

Brian shook his head, never taking his eyes off the screen. "I was hoping that you could tell me. It looks like some kind of a magnetic disturbance. Then again, my physics classes were a long time ago."

Theodore nodded his head, and pushed O'Keefe out of the way. He went without much complaint, just grabbing another chair and scootching over. They continued to stare at the pulsing point, just a few hundred miles off from Fiji.

"I can't even imagine what would cause that," Theodore said. He finally noticed that his vision was fuzzy, and pushed the glasses back up. "It's like that little spot right there has its own magnetic pole. And it's reversing."

O'Keefe laughed. "That's not even possible," he said. Theodore didn't even glance at him, he just continued to stare at the monitor. "Right, Ted? That's impossible."

"Why were you even looking at this?" Theodore asked, finally breaking out of his daze. O'Keefe smiled, showing those brilliant white teeth that were sometimes enough to make people forget about the pallor of his skin, and the heavy dark circles under his eyes. He leaned forward, his eyes widening with excitement.

"I was in the lab today, just running some of the tests on the subjects," he said. Theodore froze for a second. Since when were second year grad students allowed to test any genetic theory on people? Then he realized what the other man considered to be subjects, he considered to be rats. "And I was talking to the prof, who mentioned that the funny thing about rats is that they don't seem to sense the poles the way other animals do. You know, migratory animals, polar bears, even deer. And I asked her why nobody had ever studied that. And she said that one group had, somewhere in the Pacific Ocean."

"What's your point?" Theodore asked. "What the hell does that have to do with our pulsing red beacon there?"

"Well," and here O'Keefe leaned forward even more, enough that he was balanced precariously on the chair. "She said they'd tried to reverse the polarity of an island, and they'd brought polar bears there to see if they would adapt. And they did."

"What exactly does this have to do with genetics?"

"They needed to test if the bears responded to the climate, or the polarity."

"And?"

"That's the thing," O'Keefe said. "The prof didn't know. So I did some research of my own. No results were ever posted."

Now it was beginning to make sense to Theodore. His friend had never really been the best student. He hated sitting and taking notes. But give him a mysteriously missing piece of code, or an untraceable strand of DNA, and he'd dig, research, and investigate until he'd found the pieces of the puzzle and put them back together.

"So you came to the geology department, to see if you could figure out the island."

"Exactly," O'Keefe said, and his finger hovered over the pulsing spot. "And guess what Ted—I think I just found us a whole bunch of polar bears."

Theodore nodded. "Okay."

O'Keefe stared at him, clearly waiting for him to say something. But Theodore didn't really have much to say. As far as he could see, O'Keefe had solved the mystery, case closed. But something in his friend's posture warned him that there was more to come.

"This isn't just okay, man," O'Keefe said. "Aren't you curious about what else they were doing there? About what happened?"

Theodore shrugged his shoulders. "Not especially," he said. "Besides, how long ago was this?"

"Fifty years," O'Keefe said. Theodore quirked an eyebrow. Fifty years, and O'Keefe was still stuck up on this? The blond boy leaned forward.

"Okay, I get it," he said. "You're not interested in the polar bears or the ramifications for genetics research. But here's my question—aren't you at least a little curious about how, exactly, scientists fifty years ago were able to reverse the polarity of just one island?"

Theodore sighed. And he'd been reeled in, hook line and sinker. Again. He could only hope that this wouldn't end up like many of O'Keefe's other exploits. He really couldn't afford to be found in the girl's bathrooms wearing a nightgown again. The other students in his department already called him silk teddy. He didn't think he could stand another nickname.

"So what do we do?" Theodore asked. O'Keefe grinned, and leaned back in his chair. The plastic creaked as it was forced to assume his full weight.

"You check out the polarity. See how far it extends, how new the change is, and see if you can figure out a way to change it."

Theodore groaned. That was going to take a _lot_ of work, if it was even possible. "And what are you going to do?"

"I," O'Keefe said, with the widest grin his face was capable of. "Am going to call in Jess."

Theodore froze. His friend was taking this far more seriously than he could ever have imagined. "Is that really necessary?"

"Oh yes," O'Keefe said, with that familiar and frightening glint in his eye. "This is big, Ted," and then, much less seriously, "besides, I don't get why you're so scared of her. She's just a girl."

And that, Theodore thought grimly, was precisely the problem.


	2. Chapter 2

"Is my Dad going to be okay?" Walt asked anxiously, as he stood beside the doctor and his father. Walt hadn't left either of their sides the entire trek home.

"I think he'll be just fine," Jack said tiredly, wiping his forehead with the back of one hand. "It's you I'm worried about."

"Why would you be worried about me?" Walt asked, raising one eyebrow. Jack smiled. He didn't remember the boy being able to do that when he'd left. Apparently a lot had changed.

"Walt, why don't you tell me about what you've been doing for the past month," Jack insisted. Walt paused for a moment, and then sat down beside his father, not saying a single thing. Jack sighed, and stood up.

"Where you going?" Walt asked. Jack smiled a little.

"I'm going to head into the main room," he said. "Where I'm going to lie down on the couch and try to get some rest. You ought to try and do the same."

"What if something happens to my Dad while you're sleeping?" Walt asked. Jack sighed.

"Walt, your dad's going to be fine, at least for a few hours."

He walked out of the room, still marveling over the change in the boy's appearance. He saw Locke, sitting dutifully at the computer, staring as it began to count down.

"How's the boy?" Locke asked, never taking his eyes off the computer screen.

"Older," Jack said. That was enough to get Locke to rise his eyes and look toward him. "Or haven't you noticed."

"I noticed," Locke responded. "What do you think that means?"

"I don't know," Jack said, allowing a bit of his frustration to come out in his words. "Dammit, I don't know. Any disease I can think of that seems to cause rapid aging has other symptoms, and he doesn't display any of them."

Locke nodded his head. "Maybe it's just fate, Jack," he said. Jack laughed a little, bitterly, and shook his head.

"You don't really believe in that, do you John?" he asked. The bald man looked up from the computer again, and stared steadfastly at Jack.

"You don't"

"Hey," it was no surprise that Kate's soft voice was the one to finally break the tableau. "What's going on here?"

"Nothing," Jack said wearily, running a hand over his head. "I'm just going to try and get some sleep."

"Oh," Kate nodded her head. She looked confused, but for once seemed to understand that Jack needed a bit of space. "Okay. I'm just down for my shift."

"That's right," Locke said with a smile, standing up. "Who's with you?"

Before Kate had the chance to answer, a cocky grin and swagger entered the room.

"Y'all miss me?" Sawyer asked with a broad grin. Kate laughed. Jack rolled his eyes. Locke glanced at Kate for a moment, before heading over to Sawyer.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked. Sawyer looked down at him, and then nodded. Locke led him to the pantry.

"I want you to let the timer count down," he said. Sawyer stared at him.

"Did I just hear what I think I heard?"

"Run it down," Locke said again, a little more intensely this time.

"Why, you wanna know what happens? Whether this little island goes boom or not?"

"It won't blow up," Locke said. Sawyer grinned.

"Well, hell, that's what I've been saying all along!"

"Let it count down," Locke said again. Sawyer nodded his head.

"Alrightee, hoss," he agreed. "Let the games begin."

* * *

Theodore froze. He stared at the pair of white espadrilles. White espadrilles meant a woman, he was pretty sure. He allowed his gaze to follow them up. Yup, long, long legs, ending in a blue cotton skirt. Follow them up some more, to a waist in a white tank top, tanned arms, huge clouds of wavy brown hair, and deep brown eyes. And freckles. He swallowed. Theodore had always been a sucker for freckles.

"Hey guys, what's up?" Jess asked, pushing her hair back from her face. She stuck out her tongue a little, at what, Theodore couldn't be sure.

"Jess, you'll never believe what we found!" O'Keefe exclaimed, leaping from his feet and dragging the girl with him to the computer. "Check that out!"

"Um. . .a map?" she said. She'd given up on controlling the hair, and just pulled it back into a ponytail. Theodore tried to keep from sweating.

"No! Ted, tell her what it is!"

Jess swiveled around in a chair, and her face broke out into a wide smile. Theodore could feel pools of moisture under his arms. "Teddy bear!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet and running over to give him a hug. Theodore prayed that she wouldn't feel his sweaty back. "I haven't seen you in ages! How are you?"

"Good, good, enough of that," O'Keefe said impatiently, untangling the two, grabbing them both by their forearms, and pulling them toward the screen. "Catch up later."

"That," Theodore explained, pointing a finger at the pulsing light. "is a site of high magnetic activity. My best guess, from the vibrance and frequency of the light, is that polarity at this site has actually been reversed."

"Okay," Jess said, clearly understanding neither what he was saying, nor what it had to do with you. "That's cool."

"It's fantastic!" O'Keefe exclaimed, and quickly ran through everything that he had told Theodore earlier. When he finished, he was breathing heavily, and looked even paler than usual. Jess looked at him in concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked. He nodded his head.

"Great. Let's get to work."

"Wait a minute. . .what do you mean, get to work?" Jess asked. "Guys, I'm not a scientist. What do you expect me to do?"

"But you are a journalist, right?" O'Keefe asked intensely. Jess laughed and shook her head.

"Yeah, for two summers I worked for a newspaper. What does that"

"We need you to go through the records here, any mention in newspapers, in grants, whatever, and see if you can find mention of something called the Dharma Initiative," O'Keefe said. "It was started by a bunch of U of M graduate students, as part of a thesis project, so there has to be some kind of record."

"You're kidding, right?" Jess laughed. "That's the work of a lifetime. Besides, what exactly are we trying to find out here? Aren't there profs or something working on this?"

Theodore groaned. He'd already brought up this argument, and O'Keefe had already shredded it to pieces. If nothing else, it had actually increased his enthusiasm.

"That's the greatest part," O'Keefe said. He grabbed Jess's hands in his own, and pulled her toward him. Theodore stepped back, awkwardly, wishing that he had the courage to make such a move. "Nobody would catch this on a world map. And nobody is going to start looking up blank spots of ocean for no reason. This is ours, Jess. If we find that island, if we can get those results. . .can you even imagine?"

"Okay," Jess said wearily. "I give up. Point me toward the Stacks, and let's get busting."

* * *

There were some definite bad points to being Brian O'Keefe's best friend, Jess thought wearily that same night, sitting in the dim lighting of the UGLi and poring over old records. Chief among them were the late nights, the frequent explosions of excitement, and the occassional hospital visits. Rarely did she enjoy the escapades he pulled her and Theodore into. Which made her wonder, yet again, how she had gotten dragged into this.

"Find anything?" she asked Teddy, glancing over at him. He shrugged, looked uncomfortable, and refused to take his eyes off of the graph he was staring at.

"Hey, look at this," O'Keefe broke the stillness. Jess looked up at him. He held up a large pile of documents. "They weren't just working on polar bars and polarity. They wanted to conduct psychological experiments on humans."

Now this was getting interesting. Jess, more interested in soliloquies and etymology than any science-mumbo-jumbo had been struggling just to keep her eyes open, but the suggestion of psychology perked her right up. She leaned over the table, grabbed the stapled papers, and pulled them toward her.

"These aren't just psychology experiments," she said. "This is a load of bullshit. They were trying to prove the existence of paranormal abilities."

"What does that mean?" Teddy asked, glancing up. "ESP?"

Jess nodded her head. "Telekinesis, telepathy, empathy, etc. etc.," she threw the papers down. "And they wanted to actually _create_ such powers in people."

"They wanted to start up their own X-Men, huh?" O'Keefe asked, dragging the papers toward himself. He began leafing through them himself.

Jess stared up at the ceiling, fuming. Trying to implant bizarre powers into people. . .that was just cruel. Who would willingly be a mutant?

"Hey, guys," Teddy suddenly said. "What's this?" he held up a small, circle roll of film in his hands.

"Looks like someone forgot to get their last frat party developed," O'Keefe said, not really paying attention.

"No," Jess said, "may I?" Teddy handed over the film, and she glanced at it. "This is a slideshow, or some kind of movie," she said. Now things were really getting interesting. She could tell by the film that it included a number of people, and they definitely didn't look like scientists. "What do you guys think?" she asked, holding up the film. "Should we check it out?"


	3. Chapter 3

"So, Freckles, how _will_ we entertain ourselves for these next four hours?"

Sawyer was comfortably sitting on the couch, legs outstretched onto the small divan. He crossed his arms behind his head, and leered up at her. Kate sighed, and settled herself on a chair opposite him.

"I don't know, Sawyer," she responded conversationally. "Got any ideas?"

"Hell, Freckles," his grin widened even more, if that was possible. "I got a lot of ideas."

Kate rolled her eyes, but couldn't quite keep the smile off her face. Somehow he always managed to put her in a better mood, even by being annoying.

"No sex," she said firmly.

"At least not until after dinner," he said smoothly. That even managed to evoke a laugh out of her. She stood up, pulling her hair back into a ponytail, and wandered over to the bookshelves.

"Let's play a game," she said, abruptly. Sawyer twisted on the couch to look at her. She could feel his eyes on her back, as she ran a finger along the rows of board games. Scrabble, chess, Clue. . .the question was, what kind of a game do a fugitive and a conman enjoy together?

"A game, Sugar?" Sawyer raised an eyebrow, and looked at her disbelievingly. "You've got me all alone in here, and you wanna play a _board_ game?"

"Monopoly!" she finally decided, pulling the game down from the shelf and bringing it over to him. He looked at the game in confusion. She set it down. He continued to look at it strangely.

"Don't tell me that you've never played Monopoly before!" Kate opened the box, and began setting up the bank and the community cards. Sawyer, looking incredibly curious, reached out and grabbed the battleship. Taking it into his hands, he turned it over.

"What the hell do you do with this?" he asked.

"It's a game piece!" Kate exclaimed. She took it out of his hand, and placed it on the board. "Though I would have figured you for more of a cannon man, myself. Anyway, you start here on go. . ."

Four hours later the beeping began to go off, just as normal. Unlike normal, however, Kate was sitting very close to Sawyer, giggling and holding Park Place just out of reach.

"Aw, c'mon Freckles, I'll trade you for it!" he pleaded, fanning Oriental and Connecticut Avenues in front of her face. "You'll have a monopoly! Every time I head toward jail you'll catch me!"

Kate paused a moment, and turned toward the computer. "It's beeping," she sighed. "You wanna punch in the numbers or you want me to?"

Sawyer stared at her, the smile slowly leaving his face. "Here's the deal, Freckles," he said slowly. "You go and push that button, you leave your property here. And I take it. I leave, and you take it. It's a lose-lose situation."

"Um. . .right. . ." Kate smiled. "Or whoever pushes the button takes the property with."

"Or. . ." Sawyer put down his cards, and moved his face in even closer to hers. "Neither of us pushes the damn button."

Kate tried desperately to come up with a clever rebuff to that, but his breath was on her face. He smelled good, she realized. Like peppermint. Where on earth had he found peppermint, and why was she paying attention to his breath?

"We should really. . .should. . .really push the button," she said, hating how breathy her voice came out.

"Freckles," Sawyer said.

"Uh-hmm?"

"Shut up."

And then he kissed her. She closed her eyes, giving herself into the kiss. When he finally pulled back, the earth seemed a little more empty. She opened her eyes again, peering into his eyes. Waiting for the response that always came. That, for some reason, didn't come.

"I didn't say sorry," she said.

"Excuse me?"

"I didn't say sorry. . ." she shook her head, trying to clear it. "I always say sorry."

"You didn't say sorry last time we made out," Sawyer pointed out. Kate ignored him, and continued to ramble on.

"When I kissed Tom, I said sorry. When I kissed Jack"

"Wait a minute, you kissed Jack?"

"But this time I didn't say sorry," she met his eyes again. "Sawyer, why didn't I say sorry?" He didn't answer, so that only silence met her question. Silence. Complete silence. Not even the beeping of a button.

"Oh my God!" Kate gasped, leaping to her feet and practically vaulting over the couch as she ran to the computer. "The button, the button! Sawyer, we didn't hit the button!"

"That was kind of the idea," he drawled, so lowly that she realized he didn't mean for her to hear it. That, however, was of secondary importance as she stared at the cards just about the computer, that usually held placards of numbers, but today only held red cards with question marks on them.

Kate turned to Sawyer. He walked over to her, and gently put an arm around her shoulders.

"Aw, you ain't scared, are you, Freckles?"

She shook her head, and, surprising herself as well as him, leaned in to him.

"Terrified."

Theodore fiddled a little more with the machine, finally getting a whirring noise and a bit of light to come out of the front. "We have lift-off!" he crowed, standing up and moving back to the couch.

"Nice job, Ted," O'Keefe congratulated him and slapping him on the back. Theodore flinched a little. O'Keefe, for all his health problems, definitely was not lacking any arm strength.

"Did you start without me?" Jess asked accusatorily, peeping around the door. "Nuh-uh, guys, I don't think so. Turn it off."

"Just get your ass in here," O'Keefe said. Jess shook her head, and left. Theodore dutifully stood up, walked over to the video projector, and hit the 'off' switch, desperately praying that it would start up again when he tried.

"Man, you are _so_ whipped," O'Keefe laughed. Theodore just shrugged. He knew he couldn't say anything. Any word would be interpreted as meaning that he really did like Jess. And it wasn't that he didn't, it was just that. . .he shook his head. Things were easier this way. Better. Really. He sank down on the couch beside his friend.

"What do you think she's doing, anyway?"

O'Keefe shrugged her shoulders. "Girl stuff, I guess. I don't know, it's Jess, she's completely wacko, you know that."

Theodore nodded. "Yeah, you're right."

They sat there for a moment, O'Keefe impatiently, Theodore more or less content. A moment later Jess fairly danced into the room, and seated herself directly between the two. She held a large bowl of buttered popcorn in her lap.

"You're kidding me, right?" O'Keefe said disbelievingly. Theodore reached out and popped a kernel into his mouth. He had to admit, it was pretty good. Light and buttery. "This is a significant scientfic investigation, and you made us wait for popcorn?"

Jess glared at him. "We're sitting in Teddy Bear's basement, on a smelly old couch. You want me to watch this, I get my Orville." She grabbed a handful and stuffed it in her mouth, grinning broadly around it. O'Keefe shook his head in disgust.

"You're ridiculous."

Theodore took this as his cue to turn on the projector once again. He knew by this point when the inevitable argument was beginning, and it was much easier to just head it off. And, sure enough, the minute the projector began whirring, the squabble ended.

"Is that a plane?" Jess asked. O'Keefe nodded his head. On the screen, people were running away, frantically, from the wreckage of what appeared to be a large jet. A woman was screaming, a pregnant woman appeared to be giving birth, and some asshole was smoking a cigarette.

"What's the flight number?" Jess asked again, still sounding insistent.

"What does it matter?" O'Keefe asked. Theodore walked up closer to the screen, squinting a little and trying, by force of will, to make the fuzzy numbers and letters legible.

"Oceanic 818," he said. "Or maybe. . .maybe 815."

Jess gasped. Theodore and O'Keefe both turned to look at her.

"That's the missing flight," she gasped. "We're watching a video of that plane that disappeared."

"But this film is only a year old," Theodore protested, pointing at the date near the bottom of the screen.

"And that happened five years ago," O'Keefe pointed out. Jess turned and glared at both of them, before jumping to her feet and running out.

"Where's she going?" Theodore asked. O'Keefe snorted.

"Who knows. Who cares. Told you she's wacko."

Theodore sighed, and settled himself onto the couch again. Time for another tirade on why nobody should be friends with a girl. Which would inevitably lead to them hooking up again. Which would inevitably lead to another breakup. Which would inevitably lead to two weeks of silence, in which even mentioning the name "Jess" would bring a glare and one punch if he was lucky, two if he wasn't, which would, of course, inevitably lead to another tenuous friendship. He had it down to an art.

Three hours later, all though of dating and girls was very far from the man's mind, however, as he watched a pilot get dragged out of a plane. Blood splattered the windshield.

"That is seriously messed up," O'Keefe muttered. Theodore couldn't help but nod.

"Ha! Proof!" Jess crowed, and practically danced into the room, landing directly in front of the projector. She threw a newspaper into the boys' laps.

Theodore glanced down at it. September, 2001. The biggest headline on the front page read: OCEANIC 815 LOST AT SEA: Could The Bermuda Triangle Be Back?

"I told you it was this flight, I told you!" she sat down on the couch again, this time next to Theodore and as far from O'Keefe as she could manage.

"But what does it mean?" Theodore asked. He could see that there were gathering more and more pieces of the puzzle, but he still didn't understand how they could possibly all fit together.

O'Keefe, however, had latched onto the question. His entire face practically glowed. "It means to strap on our outfits, my friends, we're taking a plane trip!"


	4. Chapter 4

Walt abruptly stopped, and turned to face his father. For the first time since the rescue, a broad grin was on his face. "Hey, Dad, Dad!" he said hurriedly, walking over to his father. "We're going to get rescued!"

"Well, I hope so, son," Michael said with a grunt of effort as he forced himself to sit up. "I do. But. . ."

Walt shook his head. "Can't you feel it? In the air. The magnetism's been reversed."

Michael forced a smile onto a very confused face. "Okay, Walt, whatever you say."

Somehow the boy must have figured out that his father was discomfited, for he silenced about the field and sat down. "Dad?" he said. "Why don't any of the others come hang out with us anymore?"

"Look, Walt, your dad made some mistakes," he said. "I kind of. . .I kind of hurt some people, trying to get you back."

"What do you mean?" Walt asked. "Dad?"

"Nothing, it's not important," Michael forced a smile on his face, and stood up. "So you really think we're gonna be rescued, huh?"

"Yeah!" Walt said again. "Come on, Dad, let's walk down to the beach and see if we can spot a plane!"

"Hold on, boy," Michael laughed. "Dad's a little hurt. It's gonna take him a minute."

Walt waited patiently until his father finally managed to stand the whole way, and then slipped one of the older man's arms over his shoulder, giving him an assist on the way to the beach.

Michael couldn't remember ever being happier in his entire life. True, some good people had died, and true, his bullet injury hurt like hell, but he'd gotten his son back. And they had a good relationship, now, just the way they should have, all along.

He winced a little as they neared the beach, and heard the inevitable yelling. Somebody was always upset about something on Craphole Island.

"We have to tell Jack!"

Well, that sounded like Kate.

"Hell, Freckles, it ain't the end of the world! Sun's still shining, and we're still stuck here!"

And that would be Sawyer.

"Hey guys. Tell Jack what?"

And the annoying guy interrupting would be Charlie. Yup, things didn't change much on the island.

He and Walt broke free of the jungle, and into the brilliant light of the beach. Kate and Sawyer were having it out, standing nearly toe to toe, while Charlie and Claire stood back just a little. Michael frowned as he noticed Claire clutching Charlie's hand. He felt protective of the girl. . .everyone on the island did. . .and he couldn't help thinking that Charlie was a bad influence on her. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll and all that jazz.

"What's going on?" Walt asked.

"Hey!" Charlie exclaimed. "Walt's back! Look at that, Claire, Walt's back!"

"I can see that, Charlie!" Claire said. She handed Aaron over to the Brit, and walked over to give Walt a big hug. He blushed a little under the attention. Sawyer and Kate, meanwhile, barely spared a glance for the new arrivals.

"Well, we have to tell someone," Kate said. "We can't just pretend that didn't happen."

Sawyer stepped closer, and brought his face down to within inches of Kate. "And you wanna explain why that damn button didn't get pushed?"

Kate stepped back, and then began walking away. "Fine," she said, over her shoulder. "Have it your way."

Sawyer finally turned to face Michael and Walt, smiling a little self-deprecatingly. "Women," he said. Michael smiled back.

"Hey, Dad, Dad!" Walt exclaimed, pulling on his father's sleeve. Michael look at him. He was staring wide-eyed up at the sky, one finger pointing. He followed the trajectory of his son's finger, only to see a plane flying low in the sky.

"Told you we'd be rescued today!" Walt exclaimed. "Didn't I tell you?"

"Holy shit," Sawyer shook his head in amazement. "Looks like Tattoo here really was on to something."

Suddenly realizing what was going on, Sawyer ran down the beach, waving his hands and yelling. Walt laughed. Michael, meanwhile, slowly limped his way down, keeping his eye on the rescue flying slowly toward the island.

* * *

"I can't believe you two," Jess huffed as they rang impatiently on the doorbell. "We should _not_ be getting my brother involved in this. You realize that he could lose his job?"

"Better than the alternative," Theodore pointed out. Which it was, the alternative being that O'Keefe had proudly announced that four years ago he'd taken three pilot lessons, and was reasonably sure that he could take off and fly a stolen jet. It was a testament to the man's craziness that he and Jess had believed that he actually would try to steal a jet.

It was possible, though, that O'Keefe had been bluffing. They all knew that Jess' brother was in the Air Force. And they all knew perfectly well that if anyone could get the plane, Brian Smith Gerad could do it.

"Op, he's not home, too bad," Jess said, a little too quickly. O'Keefe glared down at her, before hitting the button again.

"Fuckin' stop this shit!" a man's voice yelled. Jess moaned a little, and Theodore patted her consolingly on her back. The door flung open and a tall, compact man wearing a pink bathrobe stood in front of them.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked blearingly. O'Keefe trembled a little, and pushed Jess in front.

"Hey, Bri," she said, waving and smiling. The man blinked.

"Baby sis?" he roared, and promptly picked her up in a massive bear hug, and pulled her inside. The door slammed shut behind the two. Theodore turned to stare at O'Keefe. That was somewhat. . .unexpected.

The door opened again, and the huge hairy man stared out. "You're boys," he said accusingly.

"Last I checked," O'Keefe quipped. The man shook his head. He turned and roared inside "Jess! Why the hell are there fuckin' plebes out here?"

"They're my friends, Brian," she sighed. Theodore thought he could see her head trying to peep out.

"You two banging my sis?" the man asked suspiciously. Theodore's jaw dropped. O'Keefe giggled a little nervously.

"N-no," he stuttered. "We're just friends. That's it."

"Jess doesn't need no fuckin pansy-ass boyfriends," Brian said, and slammed the door shut again. Theodore whimpered. A minute later the door opened again, and this time Jess was standing in it.

"All right, he said you can come in," she said coldly, before turning and leading them into the house.

"Jess says you two are okay," Brian roared, slamming a beer down in front of the two men, and a Coke in front of his sister. Theodore peered at the drink. He didn't like alcohol. He glanced nervously at Brian, and opened the beer.

"You want to steal a plane?" Brian asked disbelievingly. O'Keefe leaned forward, getting excited now.

"See, we found this magnetic disturbance—"

"Pansy, shut the fuck up," Brian said. He turned to look at Jess again. "You fuckin' serious? You want me to steal a fuckin' USA plane?"

"Not steal," Jess said. "Borrow."

"Hell," Brian shook his head, and downed a Corona in one long, gulp. Trickles of beer trailed down his chin, but he didn't pay any attention. He leaned forward and grinned. "You realize we get caught we slammed?"

"Yeah, but. . ." O'Keefe protested.

Brian ignored him. He stroked his stubbled chin. "Aw, hell," he said, throwing the glass. Theodore winced at the sound of it breaking on the hard, linoleum floor. "Screw the man, that's what I say!"

"So you'll do it?" O'Keefe asked excitedly. Jess sighed and buried her face in her hands. Theodore felt an aching need to hug her.

"All right, doobies," Brian said, standing up and stretching. "We leave in T-fifteen minutes."

"What does that mean?" O'Keefe asked.

"It means, pansy," Brian smiled. "That we leave as soon as I grab some fuckin' boxer shorts."

* * *

"Are you sure we're going in the right direction?" Theodore asked nervously. He tried to stare over Brian's massive shoulder to see the coordinates.

"Fuckin' magnetic beacon screwin all my fuckin' equipment," Brian complained. Theodore gulped and turned to Jess.

"Is that a no?" he asked. She shrugged and patted his arm, before resuming her gaze out the side window.

"Hey!" O'Keefe suddenly sat up straight, pointing out the window. Brian ignored him, but Jess and Theodore leaned over to see what he was pointing at. "There! What's that, out ahead!"

"Looks like an island," Jess said dryly. "Woop dee."

"There are people on it!" O'Keefe said excitedly. He stared down at the map in his lap. "Nothing's charted for almost a hundred miles!"

Jess was getting excited now, too. She leaned forward. Brian reached out a hand and pulled the front of her shirt up higher, so that not a hint of cleavage showed. "There are people!" she shouted. "On the beach! Go down closer, Brian!"

"No problem," her brother responded. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his hands were white-knuckled around the controls. Theodore closed his eyes and began to pray. Something was wrong.

"Brian?" Jess asked. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

"Let me put it this way," her brother said tightly. "Like it or not, we're going down."


End file.
